


apple of my eye

by ignisol



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Dessert & Sweets, Domestic Fluff, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 20:12:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15781272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignisol/pseuds/ignisol
Summary: He didn’t know whether to be happy that these were his problems now instead of death and war or to bemoan the loss of his healthy diet.





	apple of my eye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gryffindored](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindored/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ASHLEY!!!!!!
> 
> [my tumblr](https://ignisol.tumblr.com/post/180670405813/apple-of-my-eye-one-shot)

Rowan lies on his side, back facing the wall behind him and front facing toward the sleeping form lying next to him. His head rests in the palm of his propped hand, which he has vaguely noticed is beginning to fall asleep. His other, however, is far more active than his previous hand.

He brushes his knuckles over her sleeping face, admiring the soft glow of her skin reflected in the moonlight filtered through the silken curtains behind her; billowing in the midnight wind. A result of his wife forgetting to close the lattice doors onto their balcony before she had fallen asleep.

Rowan supposes it can’t be helped, especially as he gaze travels from her peaceful form down to the thick book lying next to her, top the bedsheets. The book had certainly seen better days, with its dog-eared pages and worn cover. He couldn’t even read the title anymore, but he needn’t.

You are the Apple of my Eye

He knows this book well, and he’d better, he had bought her this book nigh a century ago, as an anniversary gift to celebrate their first year of being married. Rowan wouldn’t give his wife a half-assed present even now, after all these years, let alone as a first-anniversary present.

Because that first year, they had celebrated more than just the first year of marriage. 

They had celebrated survival. Their survival, their reunion, their happily ever after that they had worked so hard to attain. Especially after the hell, they had been put through their entire lives.

The book was about lost princess, unsurprisingly, who had awoken one morning to find herself in mysterious, snowy wood. Her only source of food was the apples growing from a single, mystical tree in the middle of this new land.

The princess couldn’t leave the tree, lest she starved to death, and there she sat under the apple tree for days on end. She was confused as to why she hadn’t frozen to death yet. She didn’t remember her home, loved ones or anything. She had resigned herself to thinking she never had any, to begin with.

Having resigned herself to a life of solitude, the princess was quite shocked to see a man stumble out into view from beyond the treeline.

A warrior, by the looks of his ragged, hewn features and his scarred face that would’ve been quite handsome otherwise. And the giant sword that was as big as he was and definitely twice as heavy strung across his back.

He looked up at her, and suddenly his fatigued expression lit up in a large smile as he rushed towards her, arms outstretched.

Panicking, the princess ducked out of the way, leaving the warrior to run past her, trip, and fall face first into the snow bank that was positioned behind her.

He had been shocked and questioned her on why she had down that. To which she responded with another question. She asked him who he was, and his feature had fallen.

He informed her that he was her husband, to which she responded that it was impossible; that she didn’t have a family or loved ones of any sort.

He continued to insist that they were wed, happily so but had slighted the sorceress who lived in the nearby mountains, whom no one had seen or heard from in a hundred years but not inviting her to the royal wedding.

So she had cursed them, saying they would only be permitted one year of happiness together before the curse tore them apart, never to see one another again.

He said that he had tracked her to this forest, but had been unable to enter due to a magical shield encompassing the entire wood. he had tried and tried in vain to penetrate it but to no avail.

So he had left, not to give up, but to hunt down the sorceress who had done this to them. At first, he had tried to bargain with her but only be laughed at, to be told absolutely nothing would sway the sorceress.

And then he had begged, pleading with her to set his princess free, but was again denied.

He then resulted to violence, had drawn his sword from over his back and chopped the bitch’s head clean off right off. He dismembered her next and then took all the pieces and set them alight in the fires of the Holy Temple of the capital city.

He had returned to the forest to find the shield had lifted and rushed into the woods without a second thought. 

But the princess was wary, she didn’t know this man and anyone in the world could fabricate a lie.

But the warrior was insistent. He stayed with her in the endless winter of the sorceress’s enchanted woods. He built her a house out of the evergreens he felled with his sword. 

He went out and begun to hunt animals that hadn’t been there when she had woken up. He looked their meat and used the fur to fashion them clothing and blankets; rugs and cushions and other such furnishings.

They’d become close until she began the genuinely care for him again. The princess had one day decided while he was out hunting again to pick some apples, take the flour and other ingredients he had brought with him from the village beyond the forest and baked him an apple pie.

He returned and saw the apple pie on the table. The princess had told the warrior that even though she did not remember him, that she still loved him and wanted to be with him.

Rowan admits that the reason he had bought the book for Aelin was that he knew that, deep down, he couldn’t hide that he was a sentimental sort. No matter how many fronts he puts up, he would continue to be that way for the rest of his life. And he had no problems with it whatsoever.

He raised his hand upwards slightly and began to stroke her lion’s mane, so messy without her nightly routine. Rowan knew that Aelin was going to be absolutely livid when she woke up the next morning and realized the mess of knots and tangles she would have to wrangle under control. 

Rowan had removed the pins in her hair before he had readied himself for bed and climbed in next to her. At least she wouldn’t have to deal with a headache in the morning. Just the usual morning sickness.

He still couldn’t believe it, even though Yrene’s granddaughter, Yona, had given them the news three months ago. It still didn’t feel real to him, even with the new baby bump protruding from Aelin’s abdomen.

They’d have to make a public announcement soon, let Terrasen on her people know that an heir to the throne was on the way.

Aelin shifted slightly and Rowan stopped his ministrations. He waited, large, calloused hand hovering precariously over her hand as she righted herself in her sleep before curling up again, burying her face in her pillow.

He breathed a sigh of relief as she finally settled back down. He had started to fear she was going to wake up and demand he get up and leave their warm, soft bed and back him go out fetch her some kind of freakish food.

He had originally thought the freakish cravings of pregnant women was a myth; the admittedly few pregnant women he had been around in his life were certainly a testament to that. But now that he had his own wife, with his own baby on the way, he realizes just how wrong he was.

Not only that, but Rowan was starting to wonder if her cravings were starting to rub off on him. Because, for some inane reason, he was starting to crave apple pie. Of all things to get a craving for in the middle of the night, it was sweets; something he absolutely hated.

But ever since Aelin had gotten pregnant, they had started tasting amazing. Rowan supposed it was a side effect of the bond between, that somehow a decent chunk of Aelin’s soul was completely dedicated to sugar. He wouldn’t be surprised if that was so.

He didn’t eat any, though, not with Aelin’s strict diet now that they were expecting; a diet he had decided to partake in as well. 

Rowan shifted and look over his own shoulder and towards the clock mounted above the mantelpiece. Three o’clock, it read; absolutely nowhere close to sunrise.

He rose as slowly as he could, as not to disturb his sleeping wife beside him. Once he was fully seated up, he twisted his body around so that his feet could plant themselves on the cold, hardwood floor. Once warm from the fire burning in the fireplace beside their bed having, the fire had already died by the time he had awoken from his slumber.

He stood up then, and he knew he was getting old by the way his bones creaked as he stretched. To think, he was already over four hundred years old and Aelin was barely passed her first hundred.

Rowan slowly padded over to the grand mahogany doors that led into their bedchamber and grasped the brass handle in his large, calloused hand. He twisted and cringed when he pulled the door open and a resounding creak reverberated throughout the dark room.

Aelin began to murmur quietly, shiting around their empty bed once again. Curse his luck for having such a light sleeper for a wife! Once she had finally settled down again, he opened the door fully, stepped out in the foyer of their shared Royal Chambers, and quickly shut the door behind him.

With a thick, wooden door between them, Rowan felt comfortable enough to walk regularly towards the entrance of their quarters and step out.

The Night Guard was noticeably shocked that their King was awake at such an hour, but was calmed when Rowan assured them that he was simply taking a midnight stroll and that absolutely nothing was wrong. 

But everything was wrong. He, Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, was sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night and behind his wife’s back, and lying to guards just to get himself a slice of apple fucking pie in the middle of the fucking night.

He didn’t know whether to be happy that these were his problems now instead of death and war or to bemoan the loss of his healthy diet.

Rowan decided to do both.

Quickly, so that no other guards took notice of him or his absence. The last thing Rowan wanted was for the guard to start gossiping, Aelin would surely find out about his recurring midnight excursions. He’d be sleeping on the sofa for the duration of her pregnancy, maybe longer.

Rowan had, miraculously, managed to find his way to the kitchens. Despite having made this exact same journey for the past few nights now, he was still unable to find his way without running into a few dead-ends here or there.

Rowan pressed a large palm against the thin, double doors and gently pushed them open. No knob or handle was apparent, as to not hinder the working servants carrying large trays and platters of delicious (and no doubt heavy) food.

He quickly got to work gathering all the ingredients and tools he would need. Rowan found that when he decided to prepare the food on his own I would taste all the sweeter, and he didn’t mind the work required to make it so.

The king reached for his large mixing bowl and brought to rest on the prep table before him. He took his flour, salt, and sugar and began to mix them all together until he was satisfied with had hey looked.

Then, he reached for his butter and shortening and began to rub them into the dry mixture with his fingers. he thus poured a small amount of water into the mixture periodically until he was ready to pour in the vinegar.

With his free hand, he began to sprinkle even more flour onto his surface area and dropped the large ball of dough with a resounding plop! Glad to see that it would not stick, he quickly got to work shaping his dough into a flat disc.

Rowan had just reached for his second mixing bowl when he heard a soft, deliberate cough come from just behind his back.

He started, swinging his arm behind him in hopes of his elbow striking the unknown assailant in the face and causing them to stumble backward, resulting in some extra room.

What he got, instead, was his arm stopping inches away from the other individuals face. As if stopped by another, far more magical force. Like he couldn’t hit them, couldn’t hit her.

He swung around, coming face to face with his wife, Aelin. Who was supposed to be asleep upstairs? Shit, he hadn’t even heard her come in.

“What is it,” she started, crossing her arms and cocking out her hip angrily,”exactly, that you’re doing here?”

Rowan, quite audibly, gulped. He took notice at how those fiery eyes, narrowed with anger, hadn’t strayed from his to watch his throat bob. No, instead she was staring him down, daring him to explain himself.

‘I was…”, he began, voice uneven. There was no use, he couldn’t hide what he was doing. Especially with the proof damning him lying on the table just behind him.

“I was making apple pie..”

A raised eyebrow was his response, until,”Apple pie?”

He nodded his head.

“You? Making a sugary, sweet dessert that serves…,” her voice dropped a couple octaves, and she mockingly continued,”‘No purpose whatsoever and cannot keep you or your body strong’ is that right?”

He cringed. Dammit, this was the response he and his pride were trying to subvert. He knew she wouldn’t have anything against him for attempting to eat some desserts. But his pride, oh his pride, wouldn’t allow it.

Because Aelin was the type of woman to tease someone about something embarrassing and to never let them live it down.

She laughed. Actually laughed at him! She continued to laugh, hands clutching her pregnant belly as she hunched over, long hair tumbling over her shoulders and hanging by the sides of her face. 

She had begun to laugh so hard she had begun to snort and Rowan noticed that he had started laughing too. 

And they laughed together, continuing like that without reprieve for the rest of the night.

How they had managed to laugh like that, together, for three whole hours about one, measly little event. Rowan will never know.


End file.
